What Happens In Madrid
by mellowship
Summary: What exactly happens when Caleb and Spencer find each other in Spain?


**What Happens in Madrid**

 ** _What exactly happens when Caleb and Spencer find_ _each other in Spain?_**

 _Allllrighty guys, I really didn't think I'd have to do this, but, based upon a very sassy review I received, I'm going to make this very very clear. This is a story about Spencer and Caleb, the romantic pairing. If you are a hardcore Haleb or Spoby shipper, this fabulous story probably isn't for you. So, save the angry comments because it's definitely not going to change my opinion or what I choose to write. _

_Peace, love, and Spaleb, y'all!_

* * *

When he sees her standing there across the train platform, coffee-colored eyes gazing casually upon the sea of travelers, he can hardly believe it. There she is, the last vestige of his old small-town life. Aside from the wavy bangs that now graze her forehead, Spencer Hastings hasn't changed a bit. She still has that strong jaw, set with purpose. That soft quirk in her lips, like she has a secret no one else knows. Those long fingers, clasped around an indistinguishable novel. Yes, Spencer still looks exactly the same.

A distant rumble below his feet tells him that his train is coming. Bending down, he picks up the backpack that rests on the ground. When he straightens again, his eyes lock on hers. Call it fate. Call it serendipity. Hell, call it sheer coincidence. Whatever it is, it's electric.

Right at that instant, Caleb Rivers knows he's not getting on that train.

* * *

They spend most of the next day exploring Madrid's golden beaches. Spencer runs ahead of Caleb on the warm sand, sandals in hand, the fabric of her dress trailing behind her. He only catches up to her when she stops to catch her breath.

"Can you believe it?" she laughs breathlessly.

"Believe what?" Caleb asks.

Spencer shrugs nonchalantly. "The ridiculous of it all," she replies. She lets her sandals fall to the floor and sets her sight on the vast cerulean waters. "I mean, who would have thought we'd be here together, in one of the most beautiful places in the world, not having to look over our shoulders at every loud noise?"

He follows her gaze, inhales the invigorating scent of the salty sea. "It's pretty crazy," he agrees. Caleb, he turns to Spencer and gives her arm a gentle nudge. "It turns out we've got some good luck after all, huh?"

"I guess so," Spencer responds with a smile. Caleb studies her expression, the way the skin around her eyes crinkles as her lips turn upward. He sees nothing but genuine happiness. After all these years, he thinks that maybe he should give the whole happiness thing a try, too.

* * *

Two weeks and several cities later, Caleb and Spencer stand at that same platform, this time side by side. Spencer is leaving for Andalucía for a seminar on ancient Spanish civilizations of the Mediterranean coastline. Caleb hasn't a clue where he's going from here.

"You don't have to wait, Caleb," she says softly.

"I want to," he replies.

They stand in silence, not quite knowing how to say goodbye.

* * *

Several trains come and go – none of which are Spencer's – and soon, so does Spencer's departure time. After several more minutes, a booming voice announces over the loudspeaker that her train is stuck on the tracks in a distant town due to technical malfunction, and that the next train to Andalucía is in six hours.

"So, what are you gonna do?" Caleb asks.

"Probably try to figure out a way to make up the credit I'm going to lose for missing that seminar," she says with a disappointed shake of her head.

"World travel hasn't changed you," Caleb observes.

Looking at the ground, Spencer laughs. "I know. Isn't that sad?"

"Nah," he says, shifting his stance. "I admire that about you. That you don't change for anyone or anything. I always have."

When Spencer lifts her eyes, she sets them directly on Caleb's own. "Really?" she asks softly.

Cheeks growing warm at the attention, Caleb swallows hard.

"Of course."

* * *

They go to dinner in the downtown district since Spencer decides to stay in Madrid. The restaurant, it's really just a tiny little café. They're seated in a small corner in the back with little lighting and lots of privacy. The waiter uses a match to light the candle in the middle of their table, and then takes their order: white wine sangria and paella.

The pair, they talk about the past few years, of classes taken and friendships broken and love lost.

Caleb isn't surprised to hear about Spencer and Toby's break-up. They'd been drifting apart for years, and the intensity with which Spencer pursued her studies didn't lend much time to repairing the hole in their sinking boat. Spencer seems comfortable talking about it, so Caleb suspects that she's put the relationship in the past and moved on.

"What about you?" she asks. "Hanna told me you two ended it, but she never said why."

He knows the question is inevitable, but he still can't believe the answer he's about to give. Caleb, he takes a long sip of sangria, and licks the remnants from his lower lip. "Seven months ago, she met someone else."

Spencer doesn't pry. Instead, she puts her hand on top of his and gives him a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry," she says. "Truly."

The heat radiating from her soft skin ignites in Caleb a warmth he hasn't felt in ages. "I'm okay," he replies. And for once, he means it.

* * *

After dinner, Caleb comes up with the idea of a late night exploration of Buen Retiro Park with a couple more bottles of sangria. At first, Spencer refuses, because she's Spencer Hastings and she doesn't want to get in trouble, but when Caleb points out the fact that they'd gotten in _tons_ more trouble in their teenage years, she finally agrees.

"You're such a bad influence," Spencer says, an amused lilt in her voice.

"And you would be bored without me," he shoots back with a smile.

Under the night's cloak, the pair stroll along La Avenida de México, contraband sangria and a thick blanket stuffed in Caleb's backpack. They spend a few moments admiring the water from La Casita del Pescador, and then make their way to La Rosaleda del Retiro. It's here, surrounded by dense rose thickets, where they spend the rest of their evening.

He unfurls the blanket atop the cool ground. "After you, miss," he gestures in a faux English accent. Spencer shakes her head with a laugh, and then sits, legs crossing Indian-style.

Following suit, Caleb sits across from Spencer on the blanket and then pulls out one of the bottles of sangria. He twists open the top and sets it to the side before taking a long pull of the tangy, fruity liquid.

"Not bad for five euros," he remarks with a cocked grin.

After about an hour, the first bottle's gone. Caleb and Spencer, their cheeks are flushed, their lips stained crimson. They're sitting a little closer together now, laughing full-bodied laughs over the silliest little things. He hadn't noticed before, but the sleeve of Spencer's dress has slipped down her shoulder a bit, and _damn_ does she look good. He watches Spencer now, full of joy and life and maybe a little too much sangria, and at last, he fully understands the fluttering in his stomach.

Caleb doesn't really think before he leans in and kisses her. Spencer pulls away, stunned, and stares at him in disbelief. All of a sudden, Caleb feels really _really_ stupid. He stumbles hurriedly over his words, apologizing profusely: "Spencer, I'm so sorry, I wa-"

Before he can finish, her lips are back on his, soft and pink and full of yearning. Their tongues effortlessly intertwine, like vines rising on the iron rafter of La Rosaleda. Long tanned fingers grip themselves around dark curls as Caleb draws Spencer closer, and he can feel her breath hitch, excited by the motion. He finds himself sliding her other sleeve down her shoulder, then kissing her collarbone. She tilts her head, giving Caleb more access, and gasps softly.

"Spence," he whispers in her ear. "I don't want to stop."

Spencer bites her lower lip, closes her eyes. "Then don't."

* * *

Caleb knows there is no going back after what's happened. He doesn't want to. He wants to spend every day with Spencer, every minute, every second. And for Spencer's final three months abroad, that's exactly what happens.

They eat bon bons in Paris. Pasta in Italy. Lamb in Greece. They scale daunting mountains, tour ancient ruins, watch romantic films in foreign languages. They know what awaits them when they come back home, but that's okay.

It's Caleb and Spencer against the world.


End file.
